


The Sweater Song

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, I found a cartoon on deviantART of Bones from when he meets Jim on the shuttle. In the comments, the artist had described Bones thusly: "I'm from Georgia and I'm wearing forty sweaters and I haven't washed my hair in a week but we should be friends." I use it as my personal message on MSN. jou saw it and loved it. She drew a comic where Bones wears forty sweaters for me. In return, I wrote about Spock wearing twenty-eight point three sweaters. The end. IDEK, you guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweater Song

"Doctor's orders, Spock," says McCoy with truly malicious glee, shoving another sweater into Spock's already-full arms. This one is a cream-coloured cable-knit monstrosity with an enormous turtle-neck collar. McCoy's great-grandmother had knitted it under the apparent delusion that sleeves were meant to engulf the wearer's hands and that it was preferred for the hem to be long enough for the sweater to double as a dress. You know. Just in case.   
  
"I confess I do not understand the necessity for  _this many_  garments," protests Spock, shivering visibly. There's a green flush to his cheeks and the tip of his nose. McCoy is pretty sure he could've dug up a parka or a thermal blanket from somewhere, but this is way more fun.   
  
"Layering," he announces, turning back to his closet and coming up with an Old Miss sweatshirt and a Starfleet Academy hoodie that he thinks actually belongs to Jim. Or maybe Jim stole it and then McCoy stole it back. Jim's habit of appropriating McCoy's clothing is not the issue here anyway.   
  
The  _issue_  is wringing every last bit of enjoyment from the ship's current plunge in temperature as much as humanly possible before Scotty fixes the whatchamacallit and they're back to not wearing winter clothing over their uniforms.   
  
"Layering," repeats Spock flatly. He deposits the pile of clothing on the end of McCoy's bed and begins, dutifully, to outfit himself in the sweaters.  _All of them_.   
  
Eventually McCoy has to help him, because it turns out it's actually kind of hard to bend your arms when you're wearing in excess of a man's entire goddamn autumn and winter wardrobe. After he successfully situates the cable-knit sweater, McCoy takes a step back to admire his handiwork and tries not to smile in a completely deranged fashion at the way that Spock's arms stick out from his body and the collar(s) of his sweaters hide the lower half of his face.   
  
"How many would you say that is?" asks McCoy, in a tone halfway between 'faux seriousness' and 'smug glee'.  
  
"Twenty-eight point three," says Spock promptly. His voice is significantly muffled by wool and poly-knit blend.   
  
"Point three?" McCoy blinks. There are no fractions of a sweater, thanks very much.   
  
Spock struggles to wave an arm at McCoy. There's a mitten on his left hand.  
  
"Where did you get that?"  
  
"I do not know."  
  
McCoy stifles a snort. "Feeling warmer?"  
  
"Unquestionably."  
  
"Job well done, then. Off you go. Maybe we can find a tundra planet and you and Jim can make a fort."  
  
"Doctor," says Spock after a moment, fidgeting with discomfort. He tries to straighten up and link his hands behind his back and can't actually bend his elbows far enough to do so. "This is highly -"  
  
"Illogical," cuts in McCoy, dissolving into laughter. He wipes away a tear. "But damn funny."  
  
"Quite."


End file.
